Of a Priest and an Al Bhed
by Micayasha
Summary: [Gippalai] A collection of drabbles regarding the friendship and love between the Praetor of New Yevon and the fearless leader of the Machine Faction.
1. Cuddle

**Title:** Cuddle

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** Baralai is being stubborn. But Gippal can't just let him freeze, can he?

**Rating:** G

**Word Count:** 513

**Warnings/Spoilers:** None, but as a side-note: in case you don't realize this by reading the story, this is pre-FFX, in the time when Baralai, Gippal, Nooj and Paine were in the Crimson Squad together.

* * *

I notice him shivering. How could I not? His teeth are chattering louder than I snore, and he's trembling like there's an earthquake or something. 

See, it's cold. _Really_ cold. Of course, I'm used to this. I live here. But Baralai isn't accustomed to this kind of weather at all. It's the darkest hours of the night, and there's a sandstorm outside. He can't leave and go to his own tent, or even go get a second blanket.

Yes, you heard me right, folks. I am in a tent with the man of my dreams—and one blanket. And while this would be a perfect situation for anyone _else_, I have one gigantic problem that most people in this situation don't.

Baralai is so far in the closet I think he's going to suffocate, soon.

Oh, I know he's gay, all right. It's so easy to see, he might as well be wearing a sign around his neck. And I've caught him gazing at me admiringly—then looking away with a slight frown as if to say in a puzzled way, "What was _that_ all about?"

That, gorgeous, was your gay side looking around, because your traditional, stuffy, Yevonite side was taking a snooze.

And now he's freezing cold, huddled in the corner of the tent because he _knows_ how this would look if someone came in here, and more in the closet than ever since his last staring session.

Well, the solution to this is easy. Share the blanket with him.

But no, when I offered that, he looked at me like I had grown another head and maybe two more arms.

So now, one hour later, the sandstorm is still raging, and I'm seriously worried about his health.

Oh, for Heaven's sake. "Baralai," I snap finally, "you idiot." Well, actually, I called him something a lot more rude, and he cocked his head in that reproving way he does whenever someone curses. "Your lips are blue, you're white as ash, and when you tried to move your hand just now, you realized it was frozen around that support pole holding up the tent."

He didn't answer, just half-glared at me. I almost pitied him for that glare, because it was so far from frightening that it was _cute_.

I huffed and rose, wrapping the blanket around myself and swearing at him again. Plopping down beside him, I growled, "Too bad for you," and threw the blanket around the both of us.

He gave me a wary look, but allowed me to first pry his hand off the pole, and then wrap my arms around him. He sat stiff for a moment, but the cold was too much, and eventually, he slid his own arms around my waist, curling up into a ball against me. His skin was like ice, but softer than anything I'd ever felt, and the silken strands of his fine silver hair tickled my face as he tucked his head underneath my chin.

Thirty seconds later, I glanced down at his face and smiled.

He was fast asleep.

**

* * *

**


	2. Game&Match

**Title:** Game and Match

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** Gippal is bored while Baralai is doing paperwork. How long can the Praetor hold out with our favorite one-eyed Al Bhed trying to distract him?

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 268

**Warnings/Spoilers:** None.

* * *

"Gippal." 

My mouth is too busy to answer.

"Gippal, stop it."

I make a muffled noise against his neck that he takes to be a refusal—for which I mentally congratulate him.

"I mean it."

"Mmph."

"Gippal, I have work to do." His voice is stern, but the effect is entirely ruined by the gasp that escapes his beautiful pink lips as I nibble the smooth, satin skin where his neck meets his shoulder; a weak spot I've found over the years.

"Can wait," I mumble, tracing the shell of his ear with my tongue and blowing gently into it. I shift my weight so I am sitting full on his lap, straddling him. From experience, I know he can take my weight.

"_Gippal_!" It is halfway between a groan of frustration and one of pleasure.

"You're so stuffy," I whine, dipping my head down and trailing kisses down the side of his neck. I slip back his robes a little to reveal that perfect bronze skin, and I kiss that, too.

He breathes in sharply, and I can feel his body tensing up. He is trying to resist. I smirk. Good luck with that, sweetie-pie. I'll have you on the desk in no time.

"It comes with—_ah!_—the post! I _have _to be!"

"Well—give—it a—rest for an—hour!" I retort between showering kisses across his shoulder and collarbone. His head falls back and the pen slips from his hand.

"Oh, Yevon!"

Suddenly I find myself pinned to his desk, the paperwork fluttering down to the floor or crumpled beneath me—and soon, beneath Baralai, too.

Heh. Game and match.


	3. Hunger

**Title:** Hunger

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** A small misunderstanding on the concept of hunger.

**Rating:** K+ (for innuendo and very passionate kissing)

**Word Count:** 216

**Warnings/Spoilers:** A very uke-like Baralai and a really horny Gippal, pardon my French.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home," came a wry voice from the hallway. I started at the deep voice, followed by the crash of what was undoubtedly a large gun falling to the floor. I sighed in relief. I hate it when Gippal goes on one of his little fiend-hunting trips—as typically effeminate as it seems, I grow unbearably worried. 

I glanced over my shoulder, smiling gently as a spiky head of blonde hair peeked around the corner. "Hungry?" I asked, holding up a plate of pasta. Gippal gave a smile strongly reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat.

"Starving," he answered—and as I was reaching into the cupboard for silverware, grabbed me by the back of my robes, and whirled me around.

The next thing I knew, I was pinned to the wall, soft but insistent lips crushing mine in an urgent, desperate embrace. A tongue was pushing past my lips as a body molded against mine and strong arms tightened in a futile effort to draw me closer. Hips ground against mine purposefully, showing me just how much he had missed me.

"Oh," I gasped with a mischievous look once I was permitted to breathe. A rather impish smile curled up the corners of my swollen, kissed lips. "_That_ kind of hungry."

A wolfish grin was my only answer as Gippal began to drag me towards the bedroom.

* * *

**Just so you know, I am fully aware that Spira has no "Alice In Wonderland" story, much less any idea what the Cheshire Cat is—but please, work with me here? ) Also, if you're sick-minded enough, you'll get my innuendo. If you're not, then... well, good for you**


	4. Pillowfight

**Title: **Pillow-fight

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary: **Gippal tries to persuade Baralai into having a pillow-fight.

**Rating: **G

**Word Count: **205

**Warnings/Spoilers: **None

* * *

"No, Gippal."

"Oh, come on!" Gippal huffed, crossing his arms. "You're such a spoilsport!"

"It's in my job description," Baralai replied, shooting an amused glance at the disgruntled Al Bhed. "It's part of the vow we Praetors make. Absolutely no pillow-fights, under any circumstances—involving gorgeous young Al Bhed men or not."

"Well, then _break_ the vow!" growled the said gorgeous young Al Bhed, ignoring the compliment.

"Gippal, no. The Praetor of New Yevon does not have pillow-fights. He is calm, cool and collected."

"Until he goes mad with suppressing things like this!" Gippal cried in frustration.

A patient sigh was his only answer.

"Baralai! You're no fun!"

"Nope," Baralai agreed, trying to firm the twitching corners of his mouth in an attempt to look stern.

"_Ba-a-aralai-i-i-i!_" whined Gippal.

"_Gi-i-i-ippa-a-al,_" he teased back. "Calm down, you're the leader of the Machine Faction. You should have at least _some_ dignity—"

_**Whap.**_

His logical, mature speech was cut off as a big pillow hit him square in the face. For a moment he stared, stunned, up at a deviously smirking Gippal, and then—

In a bound, he was up, a pillow in his hand. His tone playful but deadly, Baralai smirked right back.

"You're going down."


	5. Allergy

**Title: **Allergy

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary: **Gippal has a very… interesting allergy.

**Rating:** K+ (For language)

**Word Count:** 155

**Warnings/Spoilers:** No kissing or fluff, just pure humour.

"And so, to conclude our conference, I will once again assure you that there will be no further problems between the Youth League and New Yevon. Both factions have agreed to make peace for the sake of their people and all of Spira. Thank you." Baralai nodded to the people—but just as he was stepping off the podium at the polite applause of the spectators, a loud sneeze erupted from behind him.

"Aaah-_choo!_"

It was a horribly fake sneeze, and Baralai knew exactly who it came from, especially since the only people who sat behind him were Yuna, Gippal and Nooj, representing the three other most renowned groups of Spira.

"Something you'd like to add, Gippal?" asked Baralai, looking back at the slouching leader of the Machine Faction and raising one sleek silver eyebrow.

Gippal smirked. "I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot to tell you—I'm allergic to bullshit."

Baralai only rolled his eyes.


	6. Letter

**Title: **Letter

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary: **Baralai tries to get Gippal to forgive him.

**Rating: **K

**Word Count: **314

**Warnings/Spoilers: **Spoiler for "Perfect Ending" in the game.

* * *

_Dear Gippal,_

_Where to begin?_

_I know a simply apology won't solve this. I don't expect it to. Let me commence by saying I've been an ass. A total, and complete ass. Which really sounds like something you'd say, but maybe that is, incidentally, the point—that maybe you've rubbed off on me more than I, for the sake of Bevelle and the faith of New Yevon, would like to think._

_I do not like to admit when such things occur, but in the bleak hope that this will soften your anger towards me, I was… rather inebriated that night. Not that is much of an excuse, however I will—_

_Oh, screw this. As usual, I'm dancing around what I really want to say, and it's probably making you grit your teeth uncontrollably. You're also probably pretty close to crumpling this paper up and chucking it in the bin. Before you do, I have to ask you to notice the lovely detailing on the borders, the intricate gold-inlaid initials at the bottom, and the pretty lavender scent._

_All I'm trying to say here is I'm sorry. And because that's not going to cut it, ten boxes of Spira's most expensive chocolates have been sent to Djose Temple… mostly because if I sent you flowers you would probably throw them in my face, whereas everyone can enjoy chocolates._

_Please, Gippal. Please, please, please. For once I'm really saying what I feel. Don't get used to it, but accept this for what it is—the Praetor of New Yevon, on his knees (figuratively, of course. No one wants to get these pretty colourful robes that cost as much as I do all dusty) with a peace offering of enough chocolate to make you vomit._

_And if that isn't enough, if you accept my apology, I will give you a big, sloppy kiss in front of all of Bevelle._

_All my love._

_Baralai._


	7. Reply

**Title:** Reply  
**Author:** Micayasha  
**Summary: **Gippal's reply to the letter Baralai sent him begging for forgiveness.  
**Rating: **K+  
**Word Count:** 221  
**Warnings/Spoilers: **None

* * *

_Dear Baralai,_

_My congratulations on your astute observations. __You _have_ been an ass. I might be willing to forgive you, though. After all, chocolates are a very powerful method of persuasion. (Damn you and your infinite riches.)_

_Inebriation doesn't account for anything—but I just bit into that Crème Caramel one, and I think I'll let it slide this time. Still, I'll be monitoring your alcohol intake very closely, so don't even think about trying to fool me. (Because we all know you're _such_ an alcoholic... I know I don't need to. But I don't need a déjà vu of this little... incident.)_

_As for the kiss… You're the Praetor. Yevon does not actively discriminate, but your stuffy Yevonites with their itchy high collars and lacy handkercheifsand men wearing perfume (getting off topic)don't like 'abominations', as they call people like us. I don't like to try and imagine what their reaction would be if they found out their very own leader was in love with a man?_

_Don't worry. I'm sure I'll get plenty of kisses in private. Oh__, these chocolates are like heaven. I hope you aren't expecting any to be left for you by the time you get to Djose tonight. (Yes, that was an invitation. And a proposition.)_

_All my love and then some,_

_Gippal._

* * *

**Note: This drabble was exported and edited because I realized when I was reading my reviews and saw someone request this reply, saying that it would be interesting because Gippal was such an extrovert, that I probably hadn't quite gotten his character right in this drabble.**


	8. Stray

**Title:** Stray

**Author: **Micayasha

**Summary: **Baralai finds a ragged stray wandering the streets and brings it home—but what will it take to convince Gippal to let him keep it? After all, Gippal has never been much of a cat person…

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 339

**Warnings/Notes:** Um, Baralai is extremely OOC, and Gippal a little bit, too, but blame that on the fact that it's **AU.** Yep, AU, people. That means it's not in Spira.

Heh heh. I kinda picture them as chibi for this one.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me."

Baralai clutched the wet ball of fur in his arms tighter, pouting pleadingly.

"Baralai, you can't be serious!" As the bottom lip extends dangerously even further, Gippal added, half-exasperatedly and half-affectionately, "There is no way we are keeping that furball, no matter how 'cute' it is."

"_Pleeeeeeaaase!_"

"Baralai! Give me a break!"

"_Please?_ You won't regret it! I'll feed it and clean up after it and even wash it!"

"I'm pretty sure cats do that themselves, 'Lai."

"So that's one less thing to do! Come on, Gippal, don't be a spoilsport."

"You! You and your stupid puppy-dog eyes!" But, as usual, Gippal was absolutely powerless under the full force of his lover's pleading stare. "Oh, fine. Damned thing's going to keep coming back anyway, all cuddled up in your arms."

With a whoop of joy, Baralai pounced on the scowling Al Bhed, knocking him back onto the sofa. (At the kitten's mewl of protest, it was placed gently on the chair next to the armrest before Baralai went back to showing his gratitude.) "I'll make it up to you, I promise!" he vowed, his voice muffled against Gippal's shoulder.

"You better," he grumbled in reply, his voice only slightly softened by having his silver-haired lover in his arms. A husky, "I will," was his only reply, in a voice that left too much to the imagination. Gippal's eyes widened, his hold growing more possessive, but—

"I'm going to get food for it right now!" Baralai bounded up, the husky, seductive tone completely gone as his voice adopted the cute, pleading innocent one he had been using just moments before, and by the glitter of mischief and amusement in his eyes, Gippal knew he was only being a tease.

"Baralai…" Gippal growled.

"Yes?" Baralai's eyes widened innocently. "Is something wrong?"

"You little imp!" With a yell that declared war, Gippal leaped up and began to chase a hysterical Baralai around the house.

It was two hours before either of them remembered the kitten again.


	9. Morning

**Title:** Morning

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** Baralai and Gippal waking up together one morning.

**Rating:** T (or K+)

**Word Count:** 311

**Warnings/Spoilers:** None.

* * *

The first thing Gippal was aware of when he opened his eyes was a heavy body on top of him, small and smooth but made of hard, toned muscle. Wisps of silvery hair tickled his chin, and a nose was buried in his neck. A low moan announced that he was waking up.

Gippal groaned, combing his fingers through the soft silver strands as his lover began to stir. "Y're heavy," he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other hand. Baralai sighed contentedly, attempting to roll off.

"You didn't seem to mind one bit, last night," he retorted, rolling onto his side next to Gippal—who didn't answer except to roll onto his own side and press his lips gently to Baralai's in a single innocent kiss.

"Won't your admirers wonder where you are this late in the morning?" Gippal wanted to know.

Baralai chuckled. "Most likely. Everyone heard the Celsius dropping you off: it's hard not to. Besides, there's nothing really going on today, they gave me the day off."

"The _entire_ day?" Gippal asked, raising his head a bit to lean over Baralai with a lewd expression on his face.

"Too early," muttered Baralai, closing his eyes and entwining his limbs with the other's, pulling him into a chaste embrace.

"Never too early," Gippal informed him into his neck, twirling a strand of silky hair around his finger playfully.

"Then you have to brush your teeth first," was the reply. "You have terrible morning breath." The two of them laughed.

But the best part about this morning had been that Gippal knew they could wake up to this, every morning for the rest of their lives.

And with that thought in mind, he grudgingly rose and brush his teeth as quickly as he could.

"We're eating breakfast first!" came a call from the bed.

Gippal swore.

* * *

**Teehee!XD**

**I'm sorry if this story seemed too sexually focused; it was my original intent to make it an innocent story of waking up to each other and being happy like that, but somehow Gippal ruined it all with his dirty, dirty mind.** **o.0**

**Also, if my stories seem to be rated too high, let me know—I usually do that to stay on the safe side of things. Also, many people seem to think that the mere concept of shounen-ai, or yaoi, constitutes as a PG rating automatically. I don't much agree with this, but I really don't want my account frozen, so I'll go along with it.**

**Love**

**XOXO,**

**Micayasha**


	10. Secret

**Title: **Secret

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary: **Baralai has a secret and Gippal is determined to find out what it is—by any means necessary…

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count: **513

**Warnings/Spoilers: **None.

* * *

"Hiya!"

Baralai refused to believe that Gippal's irritating cheerfulness and horrible timing was purely coincidental. "Good afternoon, Gippal," he said through his teeth.

He was right. The grin on Gippal's face was a familiar one—devious and plotting. "What'cha got behind your back, Baralai?"

"Nothing," he answered, much too quickly.

"Really? Mind if I take a look, then? You know, if it's nothing." Baralai could almost see the horns growing out of that spiky blonde skull.

"Yeah, see, I'd rather not."

"Oh?" Gippal smirked. "_Not_ nothing, then?"

"It's—it's your birthday present."

"Planning a little early, aren't we? You know, like… four months early?"

Baralai gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, you know me: always planning in advance."

"Oh, really?" Gippal made a snatch at the thing behind Baralai's back, but was quickly evaded.

"You don't want to spoil the surprise," Baralai scolded, his tone of voice meek despite his rebute. They both knew Gippal wasn't buying it.

Gippal didn't answer, only dived for him again. Finally, after this pattern had continued for some time, the Al Bhed simply grabbed him by the collar and, as Baralai began to slip out of his hold, gave Baralai a long and lingering kiss, adding in each and every trick he knew. It wasn't until Baralai had regained his ability to stand on his own that he realized his little secret was gone—and saw Gippal's jaw drop as he looked at the cover. "_'The Lady and Her Stableboy'_!" he yelped incredulously, his eyes bulging at the sensuous cover. "You're joking, right?"

Baralai was silent. Anything he said now would only incriminate him more.

"Oh, dear gods, you're not. The Praetor of New Yevon reads pornographic romance novels!"

A rosy pink began to spread along his copper cheeks and Baralai pouted. It usually got his way. He crossed his arms like a small child, just for good measure.

At last, when all Gippal had done was laugh, Baralai muttered, "It isn't pornographic."

"You wanna bet?" Gippal flipped to the place where Baralai's bookmark was and began to read.

" '_His hands glided down her body, and she wished desperately that there was considerably less clothing between their flesh. Pulling his tunic over his head and starting on the buttons of his undershirt, she met resistance from strong, rough hands. "My lady," he murmured, low and husky. She shivered at his tone of voice and heard his give a low moan of desperate need as his arousal brushed her thigh, large and throbbing. "Yes," she whispered breathily, "oh yes." Slowly, tenderly, he—' "_

"All right, all right!" Baralai cried, throwing up his hands.

Gippal slammed the book shut, grinning triumphantly. "If that wasn't written to make someone horny, I don't know what was."

Baralai huffed. "I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

Gippal chuckled, looking positively _evil_. "Oh, you might. But you'd have to do me a _biiiig _favour, first." He tugged on a strand of silver hair. "_My lady_."

Baralai could only groan his defeat and pull his lover in for another kiss.

* * *

**Okie-dokie, in case you didn't get what the 'favour' was, it was a little role-playing. If you know what I mean.**

**Also, I know I keep saying mentioning Baralai's title in my ficlets like it's some sort of mantra. It's getting annoyingly repetitive, but I can think of nothing to replace it. I guess it's because these stories are about expanding their horizons, learning new things about them that you would never in a million years suspect (like a tendency to read porn), and so to make a point I constantly remind the reader of Baralai's status and position—as well as Gippal's, but not nearly as often.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Love**

**XOXO,**

**Micayasha**


	11. Bet

**Title:** Bet

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary: **Never make a bet with Baralai--especially on a poker game.

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:**

**Warnings/Notes:** Teehee. I'm really evil to Gippal in this one.

* * *

"I can't believe you roped me into this," came a grumble from the bundle of flouncy, pink material.

Baralai laughed gleefully. "You picked the stakes," he reminded the other. "You should know by now I've got the best poker face in all of Spira."

"Damned Yevonites," was the muttered, venomous reply. "Let's just get this over with, all right?"

"Whatever you say, my la--**_OW!_**"

* * *

_**Earlier that day...**_

"You're so dead!" Gippal laughed.

Baralai, ever the calm one, arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Care to make it interesting?"

"Don't I always?" Gippal smirked, thoroughly confident in his poker skills. "I win, you'll let me put those pictures on the Sphere Network--you know the ones."

Baralai flushed bright scarlet in his mortification. "_What!_Gippal, you took those when I was in the _shower!_"

"What's the matter? Scared?"

The praetor flushed again, this time in indignance at the jibe. "Not on your life. You've got a deal--but if you lose, you have to dress in drag for Rikku's birthday party tonight!"

Gippal laughed, outwardly nonchalant about the stakes. "No problem," he answered breezily, his heart secretly beating faster with each word. It _was_ a good hand, but...

Well, he had to keep his tough-guy front, didn't he? "Full house," he said smugly, slapping his cards face-up on the table.

Baralai's eyes widened. "Oh, dear," he said. "You know, I think--"

But Gippal was already out of his seat, whooping hysterically. "I won!" he crowed.

"--that you should have stuck to playing with your toys," finished Baralai. He smirked, displaying his cards in a fan with a graceful sweep.

_Oh, crap._

"Straight flush."

* * *

"They're machina, you know, _not_ toys," snapped Gippal, plucking at the lacy cuffs as Baralai fussed with the apples he had stuck in the bodice of the Al Bhed's gown. "Oh, take the damn things out! They aren't any more credible than the wig or the face paint!"

"You're right," Baralai answered, mock-serious. "Yuna and Rikku might get jealous of them, don't you think?"

Even Gippal had to crack a smile at that.

"Anyways, fortunately for you, it's not like _anything_ could make you look like a woman with _those_ muscles." Baralai traced a teasing finger over the expanse of chest left between the two apples. (Gippal hurriedly fished them out, chucking them across the room, swearing violently in Al Bhed.)

* * *

"I'll never live this down," moaned Gippal, standing with Baralai on the doorstep of Luca stadium (everyone had been only too happy to throw a party for one of the famed Gullwings who had helped save Spira from first Sin and then Vegnagun) and tugging at the scratchy skirts. "You're a dead man," he added as a warning to the other. "The moment I get out of this monstrosity and I can fight _properly,_ you're a dead man."

"By then, I'll be on the Sphere Cam, getting interviewed about my brilliant poker skills," Baralai replied brightly. "Go on now, darling, make nice with the other kiddies."

"_Vilg oui,_" murmured Gippal viciously as the doors opened. Still grumbling profanities under his breath, he stepped over the threshold to total silence. For long moments, the crowd was silent as the grave looking at the famed leader of the Machine Faction.

At least, a small voice came from the back of the crowd. "Oh my," Yuna squeaked.

"Baralai," hissed Gippal out of the corner of his mouth, "you are going to start running, and you are not going to stop until you are hidden under a pile of monkeys in Zanarkand."

Baralai only laughed.

* * *

**Okay, that was terrible structure, awful writing, and seemed very rushed. The latter, I blame on the fact that I'm in a hurry to get this done: the idea popped into my head and I couldn't let it go, but unfortunately I am at school at the moment, in my spare block, which I am spending in the tech lab. Therefore, I had to get it all done in half an hour (I spent the first half doing math homework) and have no one to edit it for me, nor did I have time to edit it myself.**

**But I _do_ like the idea, and I think Baralai probably _would_ have an excellent poker face, with all that lying and the fact that he's with New Yevon ('nough said).**


	12. Jealousy

**Title:** Jealousy

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** It wasn't that Baralai was _jealous_. Really.

**Rating:** T

**Word Count:** 213

**Warnings/Notes:** Nothing, really. Maybe I'll take this off entirely, I don't often use it. XP

* * *

It wasn't that Baralai was _jealous_ of all the girls Gippal had bedded before him. Really. 

He had _no _problem with the fact that Gippal had not _always _been his, alone. After all, hadn't Baralai had his share of women? Well, all right. No, he hadn't. In fact, until he met Gippal (as juvenile as it sounded) he had indeed been a virgin.

But so what? Baralai could deal with Gippal having had girls before him! They weren't the same, right? Gippal was in _love_ with _him,_ and all those other girls had just been a diversion, a hobby until he fell in love. Which he had. With Baralai. _Not them_.

It was just, when Baralai got to thinking about it—_really_ thinking—he wished he _hadn't_, because then he'd get some rather detailed, graphic images that bordered on pornographic, of Gippal entwined, sweaty and panting, with some faceless Al Bhed girl with long legs and pert breasts and a very flexible body. And worst of all, with the same green, swirling eyes Gippal bore (minus one) that Baralai had fallen so much in love with.

No. He was _not jealous._

Praetors didn't get jealous.

Much.

It was _not_ that Baralai was _jealous_ of all the girls Gippal had bedded before him, it was… no, he really was just jealous.


	13. Glass

**Title:** Glass

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** Gippal may be made of muscle, but Baralai knows he can break like glass.

**Rating:** G

**Word Count:** 1,030

**Warnings/Notes:** I'm sorry. It's kind of angsty. But I do like the way it turned out.

Oh my, my longest drabble yet!

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night, but the two—and only—lodgers at the Travel Agency barely noticed. This was the Thunder Plains, after all. Storms never ended. But it was not for this reason that they paid no heed to the weather.

_Earlier that evening…_

Baralai sat on the bed with a weary groan. His feet were aching; he had been traveling all day. Tugging off his boots and flexing his toes, frozen from the cold outside, he brushed wet, silvery strands out of his eyes, the rest of his hair slicked to his scalp with the rain.

It was only as he was lying down on the bed and pulling the covers to his chin that he noticed the swaying figure in the doorway. His heart jumped into his throat, beating wildly, and he leapt to his feet, staff already in hand and his fighting stance flawless despite his aching body.

"'Lai," comes a hoarse whisper out of the darkness. At once Baralai relaxed, tossing his staff into the corner where it landed with a clatter. "Yevon, you startled me!" he gasped, combing a hand through his tangled hair. When there was no answer, Baralai grew worried. "Gippal? Are you—_oomph!_" He stumbled back a few paces when a heavy body slammed into his. Strong arms clasped around his ribs, and Gippal's face was buried in his shoulder.

"Gippal—" Baralai wheezed, still recovering from having the wind knocked out of him, "what's wrong? What is it?" If he noticed the warm wetness seeping through his shirt into his shoulder, he chose not to comment.

When Gippal finally spoke, it was a choked, strangled sound. "It was _her_," he croaked, his deep voice broken and aching. "Girls don't dump me—they don't! I dump them! _No_ girl has _ever_—"

"Gippal, Gippal! Sit down and breathe for a moment." Baralai, ever the practical one of the pair, led his friend gently towards the bed, sitting by him. Gippal hid his face in his hands as though ashamed of the tears leaking slowly but steadily from behind his burning eyelids.

"This isn't just a blow to your pride, is it?" Baralai commented softly, an arm still around the blonde, his heart aching for both his friend and his own pain. Once again, there was no reply, so Baralai filled in the blanks. "You really liked her. Maybe even loved her."

A cracked laugh tore from him. "I don't even know what love is, 'Lai. I don't know if I ever liked her so much as some of my past conquests, say, Rikku."

He had never liked that name. Not from Gippal's mouth.

_Ouch_.

A sharp pain jabbed his heart and his throat began to clog in an odd sort of way.

"But this girl… Like her or not, she was _different_. She wasn't just playing me for my looks, or my title, or my money. Not even for the claim of having been one of the hundreds of women who's been in my bed."

Interesting. Break a man, throw him around a bit, a few jabs to the pride for good measure, and he still retained his ego.

"And she _dumped_ me!"

And so Baralai, thoroughly exhausted but not willing to miss a chance to hold Gippal and comfort him like this, murmured soothing things to him and stroked his hair, asking nothing but chaste company. Because Gippal's company was _always_ worth it. Worth _anything_.

Finally, after nearly two hours of this, Gippal's eyelids began to droop, his words slowing to a dull mumble. "'Lai?" he muttered, his head dropping onto Baralai's shoudler. "I don' have any idea wha' love'z, but sometimes… I think I… migh' love you…"

Baralai's heart stopped then and there.

And so ceased all his movements. Had he been able to, he would have ceased even to _breathe_, because Gippal was _sleeping_ on him, sleeping on _Baralai_, and he was _not_ going to mess this up. So he froze, tense and wary, fearing that at any moment, with the slightest twitch, Gippal might wake, might jerk away and try to amend the situation with a manly punch to the arm—or worse, leave altogether. This moment was like glass, so beautiful, so perfect and lovely and so utterly fragile.

Gippal was like glass, too. Because no one sees him like this but Baralai, sees him heartbroken and miserable, for there is no one Gippal trusts like Baralai. And he is determined not to betray that trust, so he tells no one of these nights. These nights where Gippal runs to him, torn and grieving, and all he can do is hold him and comfort him—but he can't fix it, and that kills him. These nights that are cold in physicality but somehow warmer than all the rest, because Gippal's tanned skin burns his flesh and long, blonde eyelashes tickle the side of his neck, and the warm, comforting weight of his secret love is heavy on his own smaller frame, and Baralai wouldn't trade that for the _world._

Because Baralai knows that while Gippal is all bronzed, hard muscle and flashy white grins and sparkling, swirly green eyes and unruly golden spikes of hair, he is as fragile as a lovely glass figurine. He fights like a thousand men, and he could seduce a tree if he wanted to, but Gippal's heart is soft at the core, past the macho façade and the loud, raucous laugh that is his mask. Soft and breakable, even by unimportant nightly conquests who find that the great leader of the Machine Faction is not all they expected.

This moment, these nights, this _man_, they are like glass, and Baralai is in constant terror that he won't handle them right, and that at any time, they will shatter.

But it is words like the ones Gippal has just spoken that give him hope, the strength to bear a few more nights like these when he is so close but too far. And even if it comes to naught, Baralai will _always_ be content, if nothing else, with these nights.

All he can do is pray they won't break.


	14. Sin

**Title:** Sin

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** He had never known a sin so sweet.

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:**

**Warnings/Notes:** None, I don't think…

* * *

Baralai had sworn he would never commit a sin.

Of course, he had been six at the time, and foolish—but as he grew to understand the greedy, evil ways of humanity (and above all, the Al Bhed) he changed his vow. He would never commit a _serious_ sin, he swore to himself.

He had held to this for the first seventeen years of his life. He grew to be an avid, stern-faced Yevonite, never once cursing, vowing chastity until after marriage. The masters and the disciples of Yevon had _loved_ him, predicting that he, too, one day would be a maester, and the thought and praise made his chest swell with pride.

Then he met Gippal.

The day he heard of the Crimson Squad, he dismissed it as a ridiculous attempt to recreate the Crusaders, a hope without promise. But as he learned more and as the buzz of gossip drew steadily towards this new army, so did Baralai's interest. Battle, for a holy purpose, was justified—so long as he killed only fiends and heathens, his soul was safe. And so he joined.

He had never thought to see the day when he would befriend an Al Bhed—a heathen! But Gippal… he was… different.

A tornado of laughter, flirtation (with both sexes), glossy blonde spikes and the glitter of swirling green eyes—that was what flashed through his mind when he thought of Gippal. At first, they had been friends—the best. Baralai prayed each night for forgiveness, but in technicality, he had done nothing wrong. He had never been told that merely befriending an Al Bhed was blasphemy. And somehow, the unnecessary guilt began to ebb away, washed from him by swirling jade and a deep, rolling laugh.

And the moment their lips first touched he knew he was gone.

Baralai had sworn to never commit a sin.

It was just… he had never imagined a sin could taste so sweet.


	15. Charcoal

**Title:** Sketching

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** Who knew Gippal had a talent for art?

**Rating:** T

**Word Count:** 224

**Warnings/Notes:** None.

* * *

"What are you drawing?"

Gippal started. Baralai had woken from his peaceful doze and was blinking sleepily at the blonde. He smiled at the praetor. "Sit back again." Baralai's eyes widened as he obeyed.

"You aren't drawing _me_, are you?"

Gippal smiled sardonically. "No, that's why I've been staring at you for the past two hours."

Baralai huffed. "But—_Gippal!_ I've been _sleeping!_"

"I noticed."

"_Naked!_"

Gippal smirked. "Because I've _never_ seen you naked before, right? Besides, the blanket is covering most of you."

A pout was his only answer. Barely ten minutes later, Gippal gave an exasperated cry. "Relax, will you? I can _see_ your muscles tensing from across the room! You look fine just as you are."

"I _can't!_ You've made me self-conscious, now."

"Come on," Gippal sighed, setting aside the pad and charcoal. "I'm almost done, and you've done just fine."

"That's because you, you evil heathen, were hovering over me while I was sleeping!"

"And you looked beautiful, may I say, so go back to sleep. By all the gods, it's harder to relax your model than it is to draw him!" Picking up his drawing again, the scratch of charcoal resumed.

"Hm. Hurry up and finish that thing so you can come back to bed."

The next morning, Gippal helps Baralai wash the charcoal fingerprints from his body.


	16. Battle

**Title:** Battle  
**Author:** Micayasha  
**Summary:** It all began as a battle. Because if he couldn't beat Gippal in hand-to-hand combat...  
**Rating:** T  
**Word Count:** 524  
**Warnings/Notes:** Baralai and Gippal are semi-friendly rivals in this story, so they are slightly out of character. Especially Baralai.

* * *

It began one day when Baralai, frustrated with his lack of skill in the hand-to-hand combat department, was contemplating how to beat Gippal, the star of the Crimson Squad. With his staff, Baralai was like lightning, and his magic was rivaled by very few, but when he was disarmed or silenced, he knew he was in trouble.

It was then that an idea came to him.

* * *

"Hey! 'Lai!" Gippal ducked his head as he entered Baralai's tent, grinning widely. "Still sulking about losing today in our wrestling match?"

"It was hardly fair," Baralai replied stiffly, not in any mood to hear more of Gippal's gloating. "You have twice as much muscle as I do."

"Twice the win," Gippal smirked.

Baralai sighed. "Leave me alone for a few minutes, all right? I'm trying to learn this new spell."

In an instant, Gippal was standing behind the seated Yevonite, his hot breath on Baralai's neck sending shivers down his spine.

"Ultima?" Gippal whistled. "That's some massive magic stamina you need. Too bad you can't just whirl your walking stick, huh?" he teased.

Baralai gritted. "I'm busy, Gippal. And it's a staff."

"Uuuuh-huh." Gippal dragged out the syllable incredulously. "Whatever you say. Just don't start calling me 'sonny'."

"Gippal!" Baralai finally shouted, leaping to his feet. Gippal gazed down at him wide-eyed and innocent-looking.

"Something wrong?" he snickered.

Baralai lost his patience. "Maybe I can't beat you with fists, but I have my ways," he hissed.

And with that, Gippal suddenly found himself pinned to Baralai's writing desk, papers fluttering to the sandy floor as a mouth crashed onto his. Green eyes widened, his arms flailing wildly, but they both knew Gippal could have freed himself had he really wanted to. Later, the Al Bhed would protest that he was in a state of complete and utter shock and was completely unable to move.

But as the kiss progressed, Gippal calmed, catching on quickly to this way of combat, his tongue snaking out to brush Baralai's lips. This made the other somewhat frustrated--he was in control of this fight, not Gippal! The aggressiveness of this thought seemed to carry over into the kiss as Baralai thrust his tongue gracelessly into the Al Bhed's mouth, telling himself firmly that he was not enjoying this one bit, and was only doing it for the satisfaction of beating Gippal for once.

Because if Baralai couldn't beat him in hand-to-hand combat, perhaps mouth-to-mouth might be a better strategy.

* * *

It began as a battle. One would catch the other in a dark corner and pull himself in the lead, feeling his ego rise with each kiss that he controlled. And soon, the physical combat in everyday training became completely irrelevant and unimportant to the two.

But soon, they began to lose track of 'points'. And by the time that Nooj and Paine had caught on, they lost track entirely.

By the time the rest of the squad began murmuring behind their hands and whispering amongst each other where they got particularly loud in their 'battles', it wasn't a battle anymore.

They had soon realized it wasn't war--it was love.


	17. Home

**Title:** Home

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** Everyone knows how good it feels to come home after being away so long.

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 1184

**Warnings/Notes:** You know how in the airport, the people coming OFF the plane come down this aisle that's like, separated from the rest of the airport by a railing, and on the other side is a wall? At least, that's my airport. So that's what Gippal's talking about.

Also, this is (obviously) AU. No Spira, just our world. Probably in Canada or the U.S.

* * *

_Where was he?_

The airport was nearly deserted at nine a.m. on a Tuesday morning, only three, fairly small flights coming in until noon, when the rush began. One of them carried his lover.

Gippal drummed his fingers anxiously on the railing, gnawing on his lip. His plane had landed a full _hour_ ago! That _ass!_ Gippal would get him for this! His mouth was paper-dry as he attempted to swallow the heart that was thumping in his throat. Others around him looked on sympathetically, knowing just how it felt to be waiting for a loved one. A few looked almost as anxious as him.

"Waiting for your girlfriend?" an elderly woman asked him, smiling kindly.

He smiled faintly, a beautiful smiling face flashing through his mind. "Something like that," he answered, shrugging. She didn't need to know that it wasn't a girl he was waiting for. His smile faded as he thought of the number of homophobes that wouldn't accept them.

"How long have you been together?" she asked him, still smiling—and he could tell, oddly enough, that she was truly interested.

Gippal smiled wistfully. "It seems like forever," he murmured, more to himself. In reply, he told her, "Ten years."

"Oh, my," she exclaimed. Silence fell between them, and she sat in a nearby chair with a groan.

_Where are you, you ass? I'll kill you… or kiss you… Damn you!_

His grip on the railing tightened, his knuckles growing white as he tapped his foot impatiently. The consistent gnawing on his lip had at last broken the skin, and droplets of bitter copper taste invaded his mouth. Running a hand nervously through his tousled spiky hair, he hissed in frustration.

"How long has she been away?" The woman was smiling at him, again. It was wrong to be angry at her, she hadn't done anything, but he needed a scapegoat. So, swallowing his frustration, he answered politely. "Nine months," he said, "but it feels like forever."

"I know how you feel," she said, her expression understanding. "But these old bones won't let me squirm and fidget like you do." She laughed.

Gippal forced himself to smile, turning back to the aisle, his eyes burning holes in the doors that separated him from his lover as if staring at them would magically summon him.

It _did_ seem like forever. Forever of waking up cold and alone in his bed, used to fighting for the covers and being kicked in the night; used to spooning or _being_ spooned against a warm chest or back; used to soft wisps of hair tickling him during the night and making him sneeze; used to going to sleep exhausted and sweaty from midnight exertions. And he _missed_ all those things. He didn't like opening the fridge and finding a full jug of juice, no one having drunk directly from the carton. That should be a _good_ thing. He missed having to fight for the last bagel, missed hearing nagging about washing the dishes, doing the laundry, making the bed, tidying their bedroom. He missed the noise in their apartment, the laughter, the _life_.

And then—the doors opened.

His breath seized, and the edges of his vision fuzzed, his toes curling in his shoes as every muscle in his body tightened—

It was just an old man.

Suddenly, Gippal wanted to shoot that old man.

"Oh!" came the gasp from behind him. "Please excuse me, young man, that's my husband. It was nice meeting you," she added, walking off towards the place where the railing ended so that the departing passengers could leave the aisle.

Stupid old man. Gippal gritted his teeth as he watched the old man coming out of the doors, glancing back and gesturing to someone behind him. "Thank you so much, son," he was saying, "it really is very kind of you to—" Exiting the doors was someone else, laden with luggage, and there was a flash of silver hair—

_**Baralai.**_

Because following the old man was indeed, his lover, in the flesh, a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder in addition to the cart of his own luggage that he pushed, and a leisurely, carefree smile spread over his face.

And that was so Baralai, carrying an old man's suitcase for the simple cause of being kind that Gippal couldn't stop himself from vaulting over the railing (a rather accomplishing feat) and running full speed towards his boyfriend. Baralai, glancing up, saw Gippal, and a hint of a smile touched his face, his eyes widened in surprise. As his mouth opened to call a greeting, however, Gippal threw himself into Baralai's arms, burying his face in the shoulder that was so _warm_, and so _solid_, and smelling so _Baralai._ He had _missed_ that smell, trying in vain to recapture it by sniffing pillows, the few shirts that had been left behind, but nothing was right, because it wasn't _him_. With a resounding thud, the duffel bag hit the floor and strong, wiry arms wrapped around him, a nose burying itself in the crook of his neck. "Oh, God, you're back," Gippal croaked into that warm, solid, Baralai-smelling shoulder. "You're really back." His words were muffled slightly by Baralai's jacket, but he felt the other smile into his neck, every inch of their bodies pressed flush against each other.

"I'm back," he whispered, kissing Gippal's neck. Nearby, through the fog of the tears that were trickling from his eyes despite his attempts to ward them off, Gippal heard the old woman give a soft 'aw', as she and her husband watched the display, but he ignored everything around them. No one being really around to see, he raised his head and kissed Baralai softly on the lips, incapable of comprehension. Baralai was _back_. He was here, he was with Gippal. _He wasn't leaving._

Clearly craving more intimate contact, Baralai pulled away and pushed him against a wall, his lips back and pressing more insistently, tongue tracing Gippal's lips until he teased him out of the shyness he held about public affection. One hand cupping Baralai's cheek, Gippal pulled away, kissing every inch of bare skin he could reach. His lips fluttered across Baralai's lips, cheeks, chin, forehead, neck, even his ears and eyelids, kissing the tears from thick silver lashes before his mouth found those petal-soft lips again.

"I missed you," he breathed against Baralai's mouth. Baralai smiled.

"Come," they heard the old man say to his wife, a smile in his voice, "I think we've lost our helper."

"Welcome home," Gippal murmured, and kissed him again. He pressed Baralai harder against the wall, wanting to crawl into his skin and stay there, safe where no one could touch them.

It was then that he realized—throughout his lover's absence, he too had felt as though he was away from his home, and remorse had swamped him at this realization. But as those arms pulled him closer, and those perfect lips claimed him, that overwhelming homesickness was gone.

Because he was in Baralai's arms, and that was home.

* * *

**I got this idea Friday night when my sister came home from a two-month trip to South-East Asia, traveling with her boyfriend—I'd missed her so much, and I couldn't wait to see her again, because it felt so strange not to go downstairs to breakfast and not have to bicker over who would get the last bagel (yes, that was personal experience) or see her smile at me, and I missed hugging her every day. So when she walked down the aisle, I really did want to leap over the railing and go hug her, but I was too short, so I didn't even try. I would have ended up flat on my face.**

**If you think I exaggerated the way Gippal felt, how crazy he was going and how his vision fuzzed (mine sure did when she walked out) then you have never had a loved one go away for a long period of time. And if you haven't, you can't even imagine it.**

**Where was Baralai? Who knows? Why did he go? Meh. I don't know. Maybe a business trip? But it doesn't matter.**

**Love**

**XOXO,**

**Micayasha.**


	18. Reflections

**Title: **Midnight

**Author: **Micayasha

**Summary: **Baralai observes his lover late at night and muses on the things that make Gippal, _Gippal_.

**Rating: **K+

**Word Count:** 606

**Warnings/Spoilers:** I'm thinking of turning this section into notes… 'cause it's pretty hard to spoil anything in FFX-2. But—none. Except loads of sappiness.

* * *

Sometimes Baralai wakes up in the middle of the night just to watch Gippal sleep. He watches the peaceful face, slack yet content. Baralai knows the contentedness stems from the fact that when he wakes up it will not be alone—and rejoices in the knowledge. _He_ makes Gippal happy, puts the smile on his face. He loves that.

Sometimes Baralai's gaze wanders over to the dark cloth slung across Gippal's right eye. He wonders what happened to that eye, because Gippal will never talk about it. Baralai asked, once, but was quickly distracted quite effectively by a series of kisses. Other times Gippal merely changes the subject. So Baralai keeps wondering. A kick in the face from a chocobo, perhaps, or a battle with a fiend? A Poison or a Darkness spell gone awry? A courageous fight with Sin? The latter seems like something Gippal would like to say, whether it was the truth or not. He lifted the eyepatch, once. Gippal had been furious at him for a week, but Baralai had already seen the eye—still intact, but dull and listless. Once a bright, swirling green, it was now glazed over, dull, listless and frozen in place.

Baralai tries often to tame the wild golden spikes atop Gippal's head, tugging a comb determinately through them until Gippal swats his hand away for the irritating sting of his abused scalp. Yet try as he might, those glossy golden locks, spiky but pliable, continue to defy gravity and resolutely stick straight up. It is one of the many things that make Gippal, Gippal—that make him the man Baralai loves more than anything else in the world.

His hand find's Gippal's, and he feels the calloused palms, traces the long fingers. Gippal's hands are hard, roughened by sand and digging and blanketed by calluses from hours spent fiddling with machina. They are chapped and rough but somehow always feel so right, running over Baralai's body. The nails are short, bitten to the quick. Baralai often chastises Gippal for his nail-biting habit, but each time his only response is a teasing, "Should I manicure them like you do?"

Baralai's fingers often wander over Gippal's upper body—light, feather-like touches so as to be careful not to wake the sleeping Al Bhed. He traces the solid muscles of his torso, dusted with thin, golden hair; feels the hard pectorals and trails down to the perfectly defined abdominal muscles—an eight-pack, as Gippal so often boasts—and brushes his fingertips over the smooth, chiselled planes of Gippal's face.

His face. Baralai adores Gippal's face: there is no denying that the man is beyond handsome—Gippal is beautiful. Every girl (and probably some men) in Spira would kill to fill Baralai's shoes… or rather, bedspace. (Naturally, Baralai keeps aforementioned threats as far from Gippal as possible.) Gippal's one working eye is a bright, glittering emerald swirl, and made all the more special for its rarity, framed by long but not overly effeminate eyelashes. His hair gleams in the sunlight, golden and soft. His skin is tanned, a wonderful contrast to his fair hair. His lips are not thick but they are completely and utterly kissable, and he has the high cheekbones of what one might call 'a classic beauty' were he a woman.

But he is not, and Baralai loves him to the end of the world for that and everything else that makes him who he is.

It is then that the green eye opens, and smiles up at Baralai, and all Baralai can to is whisper his observations in Gippal's ear.

And Gippal only smiles and answers, "I love you, too."

* * *

**Hopelessly sappy, I know. But it had to be done. XD It was banging on the insides of my brain, begging to be written. So there you have it.**


	19. More

**Title:** More

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** These things are all Baralai needs, and so long as he has them, he will never ask for more.

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count: **600

**Notes:** This is an AU, and doesn't take place in Japan, either. Gippal and Baralai are married, living in a small apartment in a small, little-known city. Baralai is a writer and Gippal is a mechanic, but neither makes very much money (thus the less-than-luxurious living situation.)

**

* * *

**

Logically, Baralai knows that as a human being, he should never be content. He should always be asking for more—he should want to have food in the fridge, and not have to go out to Subway for dinner at least two nights each week so that they don't have to spend money on groceries (he could go to McDonalds, but he has a thing about fast food.) He should want a bigger apartment, instead of the one-bedroom box they have, now. He should want a better quality laptop, instead of the piece of junk that he saved up for six months to buy, whose 'L' key is sticky and whose keyboard is missing one of the 'Shift' keys, despite the computer itself being more or less functional. He should want a cat who doesn't pee on the furniture when they aren't around to shove him off, and he should want a TV that had more than twenty channels, nearly half of which are in French, Spanish, or some form of Chinese. He shouldn't be happy that every piece of furniture in their house except for the mattress was bought at some garage or clearance sale, and that he has only had three books published out of the ten he has written, because no self-respecting publishing company will even glance at his writing when they learn where he lives. (Their neighbourhood, while not being a ghetto, was still not a suburban heaven, and was certainly not a place that a _successful_ author would live in, which was perhaps the point.) He should want a shower that doesn't take five minutes to heat up. He should most definitely want a stereo that you don't have to kick to get going, and whose radio isn't broken so that all it can play are tapes and CDs.

Sometimes Baralai _is_ unsatisfied with his life—to an outsider, he knows it must seem like hell, and sometimes he wants to kick the TV, throw his stereo out the window, and punch every single publisher who has ever sneered at him, which is very unlike him.

It's times like those when he sighs and feels near to tears—but at the end of the day, Gippal will always walk through the door whose hinges are slightly creaky, covered in sweat and oil smudges, and he will always smile wearily and make the same joke over and over. "Honey, I'm home," he'll say. And Baralai will never tire of that joke, because it's so very Gippal, and they will always share a kiss then, a simple, chaste kiss, because they are both too tired at the end of the day to do anything but kiss—at least until Gippal has showered and they have eaten whatever happens to be in the fridge. It's later when they will tumble into the bed, lips-on-lips, skin-on-skin, burning and hungry and wanting and so glad that they will always be together.

Maybe human nature is to always want more, but Baralai realized long ago that there are only a few things he needs in life. He needs his laptop, his cat, his iced coffees, music—and most of all, he needs Gippal.

Because the rest of the world can crumble around him, but he knows that nothing else matters, not the tiny box they call home nor the pee on the furniture; not the broken radio nor the dysfunctional shower.

These things are all Baralai needs, and so long as he has them, he will never ask for more.

* * *

**All right, I'll admit it _did_ come out a little angstier than I intended. But I rather like it, because I think it's more realistic than Cinderella ever will be. Not everyone has the money for a castle in the clouds, but in my opinion, happily ever after is just being with the person you love, forever, and knowing that you'll never have to be alone again.**


	20. Sandbox

**Title:** Sandbox

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** A six-year-old Gippal is vehement in guarding _his_ sandbox… Will Baralai break his defences?

**Rating:** K

**Word Count:** 508

**Notes:** -Sighs happily- I just _had_ to do a chibi piece. It's a must. No drabble collection is complete without it. Can't you just picture a chibi Baralai glomping a chibi Gippal? –Squeals- (Oh, right, and this is—obviously—an AU piece.)

* * *

"Go away!" Gippal swung the shovel menacingly. "Get outta here! Put one foot in my sandbox and you'll regret it!" He was a sight to behold, with his little green plastic shovel slicing through the air, the other hand clenched in a tiny fist, fierce determination in his eye—yes, eye; in an attempt to look more intimidating, he had donned an eyepatch that was clearly part of a children's Halloween costume.

Small children and parents alike backed away, the latter tossing him dark, disapproving glares and hoping his mother would arrive soon to put him in his place. One little girl with a sweet, round face and big brown eyes tiptoed up behind him, but the instant her foot touched the sand, he whirled and ran at her, swinging his shovel. Shrieking and wailing, she scurried back to bury her face in her mother's leg.

"Told'ja!" he shouted. "Don't go near my sandbox!" All of a sudden he spun, feeling someone set foot on his territory. A small boy with odd, shiny silver hair and even odder amber eyes sat calmly on the wooden border, his chin on his hands and his elbows on his knees. His head was cocked slightly, as if to say, _Why shouldn't I?_ His skin was darker even than Gippal's tan, a kind of a copper, and the whole ensemble gave him a rather exotic look. "But I want to play," the boy told him matter-of-factly, holding up a bright blue shovel and matching pail. "It is not _your_ sandbox, it belongs to the owner of this park," he added. He spoke in impeccable English, his grammar flawless. "Anyway, I can help you with your sandcastle." He pointed to the sad little mountain of sand at Gippal's feet. "I'm Baralai, by the way," he said.

None of this really registered with Gippal quite yet. He was still dumbfounded that the strange boy hadn't run off immediately at the sight of his swinging shovel and fearsome eyepatch.

"Are you listening to me?" A copper hand was waving in front of his face.

Gippal snapped out of his poleaxed trance. "You can't play in my sandbox!"

Baralai's confident expression did not waver. "You're supposed to share, you know," he informed Gippal in that all-knowing way that only young children can.

"Not me," the other boy retorted. "It's my sandbox. I was here first."

"That doesn't matter. You're still supposed to share." Baralai was still speaking in that patronizing way. "Didn't you learn anything in school?"

Gippal pouted, saying nothing. Finally, after a doubtful, sheepish glance at his attempt at a sandcastle, he scuffed his sneaker in the sand and said in a sulking tone, "You'll really fix my sandcastle?"

Baralai flashed Gippal the brightest smile the blonde had ever seen, outshining the morning sun. "I like your shovel," Baralai said by way of answer. "It matches your eyes. You have very pretty eyes." And he plopped down in sand to begin his work.

Gippal decided that sharing _his_ sandbox might not be so bad.

* * *

**Aw, I really liked that. A lot. XD I think that just became my favourite drabble. -Heart!-**


	21. Nose

**Title:** Nose

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary:** Gippal examines Baralai. More specifically, his nose.

**Rating:** K

**Word Count:** 189

**Notes: **Um… don't ask. Just… blame it on the four cups of coffee I had this morning alone and the two this afternoon.

* * *

How could he have missed it? How could he not have seen it in the millions of times he had examined every inch of his beautiful copper-skinned lover? It was right there, on the middle of his face, all cute and elfish and he had never really seen it before.

Baralai had the cutest nose.

It was a small, button nose, just slightly turned up at the end so that on anyone else, it might have looked ridiculous and almost like a pug dog. But on Baralai, it made him look absolutely adorable, like a pixie—which fit, given his already exotic look. Together, with his pouting lips and wide, liquid amber eyes, he truly did look like an elf or some kind of fairy. Now all he needed was pointy ears.

Gippal hadn't realized how hard he was examining Baralai until said 'pixie' glanced up from his book and released the lip he had been nibbling on in concentration. "What?" he asked quizzically, slightly unnerved by such close scrutinizing of his face.

"Nothing," Gippal answered, his eyes fixated on the same spot.

And leaned over and kissed it.

* * *

… **XD –Giggles madly-**


	22. Wrong

**Title: **Wrong

**Author:** Micayasha

**Summary: **Because sometimes wrong is just so right.

**Rating:** K

**Word Count:** 500

**Notes:** IMPORTANT: _This is completely parallel to all my other drabbles._

* * *

They are an odd pair, the two of them. Walking down the street, they not only get second glances, but third, and fourth ones, too. It isn't just because they are so famed—the leader of the Machine Faction and the Praetor of New Yevon. It isn't because they are both boys. No, it is their races, their faiths, their backgrounds. 

After all, they say opposites attract, don't they?

* * *

Gippal is the bad boy. 

Attracting girls like flies to honey, he could have a harem should he wish it. Scars adorn his tanned, heavily muscled body, proving as souvenirs of courageous battles fought with Sin—or so he says, although not much Gippal says can be believed when he is in the presence of a beautiful woman. An eyepatch strapped over one eye and a heavy gun slung casually over his shoulder give him the dangerous, reckless look of a rebel, and his status only increases the attraction—proving it difficult for Baralai to keep his jealousy at bay with the women flocking around his lover so determinately.

Yes, Gippal is the object of every woman's—and some men's—dreams, fantasies and desires.

* * *

Baralai is a son of high society. 

Born into the comfortable life of a Yevonite and a socialite, he was determined to do something to prove that he was good for something else—and ended up in the Crimson Squad.

Yet despite his spectacular fighting skills and his steely determination, circumstances, his lineage, and his silver tongue have landed him in the position of Praetor of New Yevon. He wonders at that sometimes, but he has adapted wonderfully to the part desk job, part occupation of diplomat, politician—and accomplished liar. Oh, yes, Baralai lies—lies through his teeth each day to calm the frightened people of Spira, and in their blind fear they believe him. It's all for his people, he will tell himself—but he knows that nothing can justify so many lies. It's only Gippal who can soothe this guilt, kiss his sins away.

Baralai is the golden boy of Yevon. No one dares speak it, but it is in the mind of each and every person. Prim, pristine, calm, collected, composed—a prude, the braver ones venture to think. They do not know what happens in the darkness of Baralai's quarters the nights Gippal comes to visit.

But the fact remains that Baralai _is _indeed a 'golden boy', for the most part. He is the stuffy Yevonite and the kind heart that turns none away, no matter their sins. He is the savior of the people, their hope, their light when all else is dark.

* * *

Both of them are often told that the other is wrong for him, too rebellious or to stuffy; too reckless or too cautious; too perverted or too naïve. The bottom line is that very few people support their relationship. 

But they have decided long ago that if this is wrong, then they never want to be right again.


	23. Mine

**Title:** Mine  
**Author:** Micayasha  
**Summary:** It's never a good thing when you come across three of your exes—especially when it's with your current boyfriend.  
**Rating:** T  
**Word Count:** 870  
**Notes/Warnings:** Possessive!Baralai. Heh. I like him like that.

* * *

Right from the astonished gasp behind us I knew it would be trouble.

It was no secret that Gippal was bisexual and had had many women before me, but I never wanted to meet any of them. Today was not my lucky day.

We didn't respond, not realizing it was directed at us, much less a signal for us to turn. Well, Gippal hadn't realized—I knew from the giggling that they were watching _my_ boy. Women, and more than a few men appreciated his more physical aspects, and I was always a little on the jealous side, whether or not I acted on my jealousy. So when one of the women giggled again, and in a not-so-quiet whisper, said, "That couldn't be Gippal Sylrehy?"

Gippal, apparently fooled completely, turned at the mention of his name. As we had been holding hands, he broke away from me to do so, frustrating me to no extent—these giggly flibbertigibbets would most likely see this as a sign that he was more or less available. Let me clarify that.

_He wasn't._

"Well, hello, ladies," Gippal greeted, flashing them the damned pearly whites that charmed the legs right out of anyone. The women tittered, tossing their hair, and I resisted the urge to gag. After all, they were so stereotypical, with luxurious, shiny blonde hair (except for one exotic-looking, caramel-skinned girl with thick, glossy dark hair and electric blue eyes, who even I had to admit was stunning) and wide, falsely innocent green eyes and some of the largest breasts I had ever seen—and no brains, to boot. They were exactly the kind of women I knew Gippal had dated before me—especially since the two blondes were Al Bhed.

"Well, well," said the exotic girl in a thickly accented voice. "Long time no see, Gippal." Her tone clearly said she would have rather it had gone very differently.

Gippal shifted uncomfortably, making a noncommittal noise that I took for agreement.

"I missed you," chimed in one of the blondes, pouting and crossing her arms to press her breasts closer together. If you ask me, her cleavage had been prominent enough _before_.

"It was so _nice_ waking up to that face—and that body, of course," the third one said in a sultry tone. "I'd like to do it again sometime."

Gippal's one eye widened. "Uh, ladies, you know I'd love to, but—" he began uncomfortably.

I might have to sleep on the sofa tonight, but I was stepping in. "Excuse me, ladies," I interrupted smoothly, smiling icily at the three hussies that were trying to steal _my _man. In my peripheral vision just before I stepped protectively in front of Gippal (_my_ Gippal) I saw the green eye widened and flicker towards my cold expression. "I don't think he'll be available," I continued, not-so-subtly hinting that they should back off.

A sleek dark eyebrow arched as the exotic girl smiled coolly back. "Really? Are you his assistant? It's strange, I'm sure I recognize you from somewhere… Strange. I just can't put a name to the face." She was taunting me—no one didn't recognize the former Praetor of New Yevon.

"His assistant? I'd say we… _assist_… each other," I insinuated, surprising even myself with this new possessive (and just slightly perverted) side of me. A snicker from behind indicated that Gippal was enjoying it.

"Poor thing, Gippal's laughing at him," one of the Al Bhed girls said in a stage-whisper to the dark-skinned one.

My smile frozen in place (but more of a grimace, now) I corrected her. "Actually, I think it more likely that he's laughing at you three—who refuse to take a hint."

"A hint?" One of the blondes was giggling in a mocking way. "So far, the only hint we've received is from you, so why don't you let Gippal decide if he's available tonight or not?"

"Gippal, she wants your answer," I prompted him, turning to meet his eye.

"Oh, can I speak for myself, now?" His green eye was laughing at me, though from anyone else it might have sounded angry. But Gippal was nearly always laughing—and his gaze was still laughing as he tangled his fingers in my silver hair and pulled my mouth forward to meet his. An angry hiss announced that the snake-women were none too pleased with his answer, but his tongue sliding across my lips was making it very hard to care about the three of them right then.

By the time we opened our eyes, Gippal's ex-lovers had gone, and more than a few people had begun to stare at our public display of affection.

"You're sexy when you're all possessive," he murmured against my lips. A hand skated around my waist to land just below it, slipping into the back pocket of my pants, and I was glad that since my resignation I had begun wearing everyday clothes like a normal person. It would have been much more difficult for me to feel Gippal's touch through six layers of stuffy robes.

"I should be—you're _mine_," I informed him, and dipped in for another kiss. From the fervour in his response, I take it he agreed.


	24. Nights

**Title:** Nights  
**Author:** Micayasha  
**Summary:** Nights like this make life perfect.  
**Rating: **K+  
**Word Count:** 627

* * *

This is their favourite part of the day, when everything is quiet and they have the night to themselves. Sometimes their nights are spent in sweaty, passionate embrace, sometimes they are spent with friends, laughing and exchanging stories. And sometimes there are those perfect nights when, while all is still, they lie on the sofa beneath a warm fleece blanket in front of the fire. 

Baralai smiles as his gaze flickers over the man beneath him. The moonlight's liquid silver filters in through the thin, half-drawn curtains, casting an ethereal glow over everything, and shadows skitter across the smooth planes of Gippal's face, shifting his ruggedly handsome good looks into a beauty that is almost fey-like. Combined with the brilliant orange glare of the slowly dying fire, the contrast is sharp and beautiful with orange and pearly white flickering around the room.

Baralai sips from his lukewarm mug of tea. Moments ago it was steaming hot, but the frigid winter air had cooled it quickly. He could put it in the microwave and heat it up again, but he doesn't want to move. The cool breeze dries the sweat on his skin, and he shivers involuntarily, huddling closer to the dozing man in his arms. An answering tremor runs through Gippal, and Baralai tucks the blanket closer around them, tilting his face towards the still-warm (but slightly smaller) flames. They were lazy tonight, and after their earlier activities they did not bother to dress, choosing to opt for the old-fashioned method of body heat to ward away the winter chill. Baralai can feel both their hearts beating as he buries his face in the crook of his lover's neck, their chests pressed tight together and their legs intertwined, his nose tucked in a few stray locks of golden hair. He breathes in the familiar, comforting smell of Gippal—soap, sweat, traces of motor oil and gasoline from the shop that day, and even a hint of the spicy-sweet cologne Gippal has gotten into the habit of applying each morning. Warm breath flutters Baralai's tangled silver hair just slightly, tickling the side of his neck. It is a comfortable, easy sort of embrace, with promise but no demand and love instead of lust.

Unable to resist the smooth tan skin at his neck, Baralai places a flurry of ephemeral kisses up the side and along his jaw until blonde eyelashes begin to flutter open. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Gippal murmurs that if they sleep on the sofa, his neck will ache in the morning. They should go to bed, he says, and Baralai agrees that yes, they should, but neither of them can bring themselves to move. Instead they find the fingers of their left hands woven together and and their lips moving slowly, gently against one another in perfect synchronization. It is a dry, simple kiss, no more than a gentle brush of the lips, with only as much pressure as Gippal can manage in his still-sleepy state, but it is sweet and clear. Nothing can match the tenderness in it, Baralai thinks as he cards his other hand through rumpled blonde spikes. Green eyes, still groggy, laugh at how sidetracked they have become, but Gippal only pulls Baralai closer.

The nights when they do make love, it is fantastic, and nothing can match their passion and desire. The nights when they spend time with their friends—whether it is watching an old movie, or playing video games that contain at least one zombie, or even the occasional board game—are wonderful, too, but nothing can rival the caring or the love and tenderness put into these simple nights spent with lukewarm tea, dying fires, a shared blanket and the soft glow of the moonlight.

* * *

_I'm rather happy with this one._


	25. Sugar

**Title:** Sugarcube  
**Author:** Micayasha  
**Summary:** Gippal's afraid of horses—what will it take to get over this fear?  
**Rating:** K+  
**Word Count:** 557

* * *

"Come on, Gippal, it won't be so bad," Baralai insisted, tugging on Gippal's hand in the direction of the barn. "There are some mean ones, but they're behind closed doors and you won't go near them! Ginger's a real sweetheart, you'll love him, I promise!"

Gippal stood his ground, his mouth tight as he regarded the large blue building. "I _did_ tell you how I lost this eye, right?" he said, fingering the eyepatch over his left eye with his free hand.

"You said yourself you _liked_ the look of the eyepatch, Gippal, and anyways—that horse was probably just bad-tempered. It gave you a nice scar to bring in the ladies, didn't it?"

"And some of the men," Gippal replied, smirking at Baralai (who scoffed and rolled his eyes).

"Right, so you shouldn't be so scared. I told you, Ginger's getting on in years—he's too lazy to kick anything right now. And he's very good-natured, I haven't had trouble with him yet."

"Baralai, I am _not_ getting on one of those monsters."

"Oh, yes, you are!" Baralai dropped Gippal's hand and stormed off, huffing—

--only to return five minutes later, leading an _enormous_ gray horse, all ready for a ride. Leather straps were everwhere, and Gippal wondered how on earth Baralai had managed to do all this in five minutes. There were even what looked like plastic cuffs from ankle to knee on the creature's legs. When Gippal could do nothing but stutter, Baralai brought the horse a little closer to his boyfriend, who was frozen on the spot, and shoved a handful of sugarcubes into his hand.

"What the _hell_ is on its legs?" was the first thing that came out of Gippal's mouth. Irrational, considering he was standing in front of a ten-foot giant, but his mouth had run away from him.

Baralai blinked in surprise, but answered, "He tends to collect too much on his trot sometimes, so the boots stop his legs from banging together."

This made absolutely no sense to Gippal, so the only thing he could think to say was, "He's huge."

A chuckle answered him. "He's only sixteen hands and your too tall for anything below that." More horse-talk. Seeing the look of incomprehension on Gippal's face, he added, "Just give him a sugarcube, Gippal, he'll love you for it."

"He's going to bite my hand off!" His cry was appalled—was the man _crazy?_

"No, he won't, not if you hold your hand flat so he can eat from your palm," Baralai explained patiently. "Here, put it right one right in the palm of your hand, hold it completely flat, and stick it under his nose."

Gippal squeezed his eyes shut as he obeyed, sure that he was going to get a second scar to match his first and maybe lose the other eye. But when he dared to open his eyes again, soft whiskers were tickling his palm and warm air rushed over his hand as the horse whickered, nudging the cube of sugar. Seeming to decide that it was edible, the giant mouth opened and lips brushed his skin, a ridiculously big pink tongue darting out.

And then the sugarcube was gone, and Gippal was left staring in wonder at his completely intact, unharmed hand.

"Ready to get on?"

"Only if we're riding double."


	26. Merits

**Title:** Merits  
**Author:** Micayasha  
**Summary:** It's always more fun when your parents hate your boyfriend.  
**Rating:** T  
**Word Count:** 452  
**Notes:** It's interesting, because this really didn't go where I was planning, but I like it nonetheless.

* * *

It all started with a beer that the pretty waitress brings him, saying it's from 'that handsome gentleman over there in the corner' and his polite refusal because legally he's too young to drink alcohol (though the waitress and his benefactor are blithely ignoring that obvious fact). When the 'handsome gentleman' who is really no more than a boy sees his drink turned away, he raises an eyebrow and nods for Baralai to join him. Baralai knows that a flash of the nervousness he felt must have shown in his eyes because the boy seems to take pity on him and instead joins Baralai.

"Should'a known by the pretty necklace," the blonde says with a teasing grin, making Baralai reflexively finger the expensive jade cross that hangs round his neck day and night. "Let me guess – virginal Catholic church-boy. You know they make pornos of your stereotype."

Which should have made Baralai want to stand up, turn up his nose at the pushy stranger and stalk off with his practiced air of spiritual superiority – except somehow it doesn't; somehow it just makes him flush becomingly and makes him like this blunt, open (and attractive, because it would be silly to deny that and it doesn't mean Baralai's _interested_ in him) boy.

And he wasn't interested. At all. Because boys didn't do that with other boys.

Only he had to remind himself of that when those glittery emerald eyes met his with a half-lidded laziness and a come-hither whisper in their depths. And he conveniently kind-of-sort-of forgot it altogether when he found himself backed against the wall outside the restaurant in a scorching kiss with lips and tongue and teeth making him emit the strangest sounds.

It should have ended there. He should have politely told the stranger-boy that it was a mistake, he wasn't sure what he was thinking, and of course it had all been hormones (that should have been directed at a female, if he'd had to surrender at all). And he tried to say all that, he really did, but instead what came out of his mouth was his phone number and yes, he'd go out with the boy.

Which was why he was now nineteen, disowned by his straight-and-proper priest of a father, living in a one-bedroom apartment with two cats and a job where it would take him _years_ to get anywhere, even if it was going to be worth it when he did. At first he had cursed the universal fact that it was always more fun to date someone your parents disapproved of.

But he supposed it had its merits, because after all he _did _get to wake up to that same scorching kiss every morning.


	27. Pancakes

**Title:** Pancakes  
**Author:** Micayasha  
**Summary:** Waking up to chocolate pancakes and yellow daisies on a special morning.  
**Rating:** K+  
**Word Count:** 443  
**Notes:** Witness the fruit of my labours during math class. Considering I was focusing on this and the fiftieth lesson on algebraic word problems.

* * *

"Hey, you're up."

Baralai returned Gippal's smile as he shuffled into the kitchen, his slippers squeaking on the tile floor. "Followed my nose," he quipped, shrugging as they shared a quiet laugh.

"Nothin' like wakin' up to the smell of chocolate pancakes," Gippal agreed, pushing at the batter on the griddle.

"And of course, if anyone asks, they're banana. We should be eating healthier." Their faces drew closer.

"Of course we should. Banana it is." Their lips brushed in the lightest of touches before drawing back slightly.

"Mind you, I've always been more of a blueberry person…"

"Or chocolate?"

"Or chocolate."

It was difficult to smile into a kiss, and from the faint smell Baralai was pretty sure the pancakes were sizzling, but still Gippal made a little noise of complaint when his morning kiss was nothing more than a lingering peck. Baralai chuckled and ducked out from under questing arms. "You're going to burn the pancakes."

"I'll eat the burnt ones, then," Gippal huffed, turning back to the griddle to flip the cakes, his body shielding the griddle from Baralai's view. "Go sit down. I'll collect my proper kiss once you're awake and taste like chocolate." He handed the other man a mug of coffee.

Baralai laughed and obeyed, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table. "I feel almost guilty, having you do all the cooking. It's not just _my_ day, today. You should enjoy yourself, too."

"But if _you're_ happy, _I'm _happy." Gippal informed him.

Baralai snorted into his coffee. "Where did you get _that_ line, a chick flick?"

Gippal feigned hurt, then reconsidered his statement. "Yeah, okay, that was pretty bad."

Another snort, but Baralai didn't comment on the yellow daisies in the center of the table. He certainly wasn't going to admit that he actually thought they looked sort of… pretty there.

"So how did you sleep?" teased Gippal. A pretty raspberry flush spread across Baralai's high copper cheekbones.

"Not much sleeping, thanks to _you_," Baralai grumbled, only half-heartedly able to feign resentment.

Gippal flashed an unrepentant roguish grin. "Well, I didn't hear you complaining. And ya know, if my stamina is just too much for you…"

Baralai scoffed. "Get over yourself."

"Two choc—_banana_ pancakes comin' up." He ignored Baralai's earlier comment as he slid a plate full of pancakes in front of Baralai, who at last got his first glimpse of them.

And promptly groaned good-naturedly. "_Heart-shaped_ pancakes?" He shook his head. "You didn't _used _to be this corny."

"No," Gippal agreed, unable to resist collecting his promised kiss early, "just for you."

"Happy anniversary," Baralai chuckled as he leaned into the kiss.

"Happy anniversary, 'Lai."


	28. Fragments

_Some of these are outtakes or different versions of drabbles I've written before. Some are entirely new. Please tell me what you think, and enjoy!

* * *

_

#1: Muse

"I've found it again," Baralai mutters, his brush flying over the canvas, his eyes flickering over Gippal's candlelit face, following the shadows that dance across his long toned body. There is a look of intense concentration on his face, and lazy content on Gippal's, and Baralai has never felt so intent on anything in his life. There is wild joy in his eyes. "I've got it back, and I can't understand how I ever could have _lost_ it."

#2: Home

"You're home, you're home," Gippal gasps into his shoulder, so afraid this will be just another dream and that when he wakes Baralai will be halfway across the world again. He's pressed so close to Baralai he can actually _feel_ the other man's heartbeat against his own, and his fingers grasp at the back of Baralai's shirt like a lifeline. "Oh, God, you're home."

#3: Dance

"It's not hard, it's just…" Gippal pauses, trying to think of the right way to describe it. Baralai looks up at him stubbornly, jaw set, eyes betraying his anxiousness. "It's letting your heart beat with the beat of the music, and your body will follow, too. If you think too hard you'll look stiff and nervous."

"I _am_ nervous," Baralai mutters, but there's a new song starting up and the bass pulses through him, the vibrations in the floor scurrying up his body and making his heart thrum with the beat. Gippal is pushing a leg between his two, and an arm around his waist, and starts to move, and Baralai is amazed to find his body moving, too.

#4: Trust

"I've seen scars before." Baralai tangled his fingers through Gippal's blonde spikes and stared steadily into the single, wary green eye. "I can take it. You're not going to be any less handsome or charming and I'm not going to love you any less for one little scar."

"It's ugly," Gippal snapped, self-consciousness making him irritable.

"But you're not, and it can't do anything to change my opinion of you."

In the end, it wasn't the words, but the look in Baralai's warm, dark amber eyes that kept Gippal from ducking away when slender brown fingers peeled away the patch. Baralai slid into his lap, his body fitting to the blonde's like a lock and a key, his perfectly unscarred lover kissed the marks – and for once in his life, Gippal didn't regret the ugliness one bit.

#5: Rational

He's the Praetor of New Yevon; he's supposed to think logically, reasonably. He's supposed to be considering his actions and watching his words but Gippal is taking all the sense out of him as he catches Baralai's lips with his own – deep and hungry and wanting – and then presses open-mouthed kisses down his throat and across his collarbone, peeling away layers of thick embroidered cloth and the lies and solicitousness that come from being a politician. Baralai has never felt so real and so naked. He rips shoulder armor and the shirt underneath from Gippal, splaying his fingers across the tanned bare chest, relishing the smooth skin and hard muscle beneath his hands. All rational thought has left him, even with boring old men only a few feet away on the other side of the storage closet's door, sipping champagne and chattering about the latest blitzball game or the new business opening up somewhere on the Highroad.

Gippal groans, deep and hoarse, when Baralai, whose legs are wrapped around his waist, thrusts up and grinds their hips together. He muffles the sound in a soft brown shoulder, and some distant part of Baralai's mind wonders idly what the party guests might think if there was a sudden need for a mop. Then Gippal's pants are off, and the rest of Baralai's robes fall to the floor, and they are skin on skin, hot and smooth and _hard, _need blossoming like a fire and spreading throughout his entire body, and the rest of him surrenders, because for once, he wants to be anything _but_ rational.

#6: Lullaby

Gippal never knew he had any talent for singing until one night in the Crimson Squad, Baralai woke screaming, his eyes wild and his body shuddering, blind with fear. Gippal had been at a loss, and at last pushed him with a gentle hand on his shoulder back down to his bedroll with a quiet, _just a dream._ Gippal remembered soothing Rikku one night after she'd woken up to find a spider the size of her fist crawling up her arm, and so he started an old Al Bhed lullaby; a soothing, slow song in his native language. The words slid so much easier off his tongue than clumsy Spiran, and the lullaby served to soothe him a little, as well. Baralai, for his part, dozed off peacefully, his head resting against Gippal's thigh.

The next night, as they were slipping into their bedrolls, Baralai asked in an embarrassed mumble if Gippal would sing another lullaby.

#7: Denial

Sometimes, it is more intimate _not _to kiss – to simply hold his face so close to Baralai's that his breath blew warmth over Gippal's face; so close that their lips brushed with every word they spoke. The lack of contact makes the temptation of a kiss as potent as the kiss itself.

Of course, Gippal has to grip Baralai's shoulders and hold him there. Baralai cranes his neck to try and make their lips meet and Gippal has to lean back to keep the embrace steady. Only when Baralai is nearly growling – only when his hands are everywhere and his leg sliding between Gippal's thighs and his hips pressing against Gippal's, all in an attempt to make Gippal let it go – only when every muscle in his body is straining to reach out to touch another's – only then does Gippal dive in and give his entire being to a kiss.

#8: Fight

Gippal brushed his teeth with a vigor usually reserved for battling fiends. His shoulders were tense and his back was rigid. Every movement he made was jerky and he slammed cupboard doors as he searched for the floss.

Baralai's anger was quiet. His eyes were colder and harder than glass, and though his movements were fluid and his muscles relaxed, his jaw was set as he combed his hair. He refused to meet Gippal's stare in the mirror, a green-eyed gaze that dared him to pursue their fight. It wasn't until Baralai's hand was on the lightswitch that either of them said a word.

"Hey." Gippal didn't look at Baralai as he spoke, but though the word was tight with anger, there were soft edges to its tone. "You know I love you, right? Because I don't want to go to bed with you thinking I don't. No matter what. I do love you."

Baralai's smile was as tight as Gippal's voice. "Yes. We'll sort it out in the morning." He flipped off the light, and, as though the darkness had given him an extra burst of courage, he added in the barest whisper, "I love you, too."


End file.
